Inner Sanctuary

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Chewing her lower lip, she watched a trio of crows bickering on the edge of the building nearby. There was nowhere else to go until or unless she was contacted. Why is it taking so long?

  Margaurethe has been gone for over twelve hours. Surely the assassin had a deadline. Her cell phone rang. Everyone turned to stare at her a moment. Whiskey swallowed, heart racing, and pulled it from her pocket. The caller ID said, Margaurethe. “Yes?”

  “Listen carefully.”

  The voice belonged to a stranger. Whiskey gritted her teeth to keep silent. She heard the phone exchange hands.

  “My Gasan?” a tentative voice said.

  “Andri?” Her immediate emotional response was concern for her fainthearted valet. She forcibly reminded herself of the different bond they had shared, that he was the assassin and hadn’t truly connected his mind to hers. He had fed her a vision, a lie.

  “Aye, Ninsumgal,” Andri’s tone held a combination of relief and worry. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened.”

  Whiskey closed her eyes against the desire to comfort him. A touch on her leg brought her back to the present, and she stared at Valmont. “It’s okay, Andri. There was nothing you could do. Are you okay?”

  He sniffled. “Aye, my Gasan. But Ki’an Gasan Margaurethe...she’s been hurt!”

  Whiskey’s mouth twisted into a snarl, and Valmont recoiled from the expression on her face. The assassin obviously thought she didn’t know of his ruse. “Give the phone back to him. Take care of Margaurethe as best you can. You’ll be free soon.”

  “Aye, Ninsumgal.”

  She tasted ashes in her mouth, feeling all the world as if she was condemning her timid valet to his death. Whoever the assassin was, he was good at his job.

  “I think you know what I want.”

  “Yeah, I do,” she said, her voice icy. “Where and when?”

  “Tonight. Say, about midnight.” He rattled off an address in north Portland. “And come alone.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He paused. “I’ll have your word as Ninsumgal that you’ll come alone.” When she did not immediately answer, he added,

  “Or either the gasan or the valet will take your place. Do you really want another innocent to die for you?”

  Her tone gruff, she said, “I swear I’ll come alone. But if anything happens to them, you’ll regret every remaining minute of your miserable little life.”

  “I understand. I’ll see you there.”

  Whiskey hung up the phone with great care. It was either that or slam it on the door and break the thing. “We have an appointment set up. She may or may not be there.” She ignored Valmont’s indignant look. “Phineas, take us back to The Davis Group. We have plans to make.”

  “I won’t let you go alone. Don’t dare ask it of me.”

  A grin cracked Whiskey’s stony visage, and she raised her chin slightly at Valmont. “I wouldn’t ask it of you, my friend. I said I’d come alone, I didn’t say I wouldn’t be followed.”

  Phineas gave a gusty sigh of satisfaction, and turned back to the steering wheel.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Whiskey had no need for subterfuge. The time and place of the meeting was known to both of them. She didn’t restrain her essence as she approached the dilapidated house on foot. Instead, she kept a constant scan of the immediate area, stretching wide to be certain she would survive long enough to see Margaurethe safe. Sanguire might live longer than Humans, but a well-aimed sniper rifle could still do the job with satisfaction; she had no illusions about her mortality.

  It had begun raining not long after she had left The Davis Group. Her hair dripped into her eyes, and she slicked it back from her forehead. She wore a leather trench coat, not unlike Dorst’s, that repelled most of the rain. Hidden beneath it, tucked safely into her belt at the small of her back, was a Glock 9mm pistol. Valmont had given her a rudimentary lesson in its use, hopefully giving her a better edge against the unknown assassin.

  The house was a mossy green, trimmed in white, its paint peeling to reveal gray wood. It looked like the perfect flophouse.

  She wondered why the street kids hadn’t found it yet; the location was close to a grocery chain and bus line, a prime spot.

  Of course, a Sanguire in residence would deter even the hardiest of Humans.

  Her mind touched his, and she tested his defenses, though not with any true effort. She felt him do the same. If she’d had any doubt of Andri’s role here, it was gone. This was the same mind she had connected with to see Valmont’s supposed entry into Cora’s apartment. A bubble of humor broke against her as he realized she was aware of his acting, yet still he didn’t attack.

  Whiskey stepped into the carport, out of the rain. The assassin had picked a good place. The yard was fenced and a stand of trees along the back and sides kept prying eyes away. Sniffing the air, she smelled faint oil and wet concrete. The building hadn’t been used for some time. The back door gaped open, deeper blackness in the dark. Bracing herself, she gave a final glance to her surroundings before mounting the steps.

  Cool dustiness assailed her nose as she visually scanned the long hallway. To her immediate left was an open door, steps leading down into a moist basement. She tried to pinpoint his location with her mind, finally resolving he was on this level and not downstairs. Easing down the hall, she tried to locate Margaurethe, hoping he held her here. It was odd, but she could almost feel her lover. Gentle hints and emotions flickered just out of reach—anger, fear, love. Deciding Margaurethe was here and probably incapacitated in the same manner as Dorst, Whiskey solemnly continued forward.

  At the end of the hall, she found an open area with a dryer hose still dangling from the vent. A darkened room was beyond it to her right and another, shorter hallway led to the front of the house on her left. The linoleum was cracked and dirty with trash and animal feces scattered about. It seemed that Humans had not found the place, but the local feline and rodent population had. Stabbing her mind toward the darkened room, she found nothing. She turned left.

  The hall opened into the main living area. To her right was a large living room, its white walls long since succumbing to graffiti artists. Before her was a dining room, flanked by windows to let in light on sunny days. A pane of glass had been broken out, and someone had set up a planter with crawling ivy in the opening.

  From the looks of the thing, it had been growing quite well in the humid weather, spilling onto the floor and outside in a riot of life. Whiskey slid along the wall until she could look around the corner into the dining room, seeing the kitchen beyond. No one awaited her. She saw the street from where she stood, watched a car slowly drive past, windshield wipers squeaking as the rain gave way to mist. She turned her attention to the empty living room.

  Halfway down the length of it, a hallway opened and she padded that direction. While there was no reason for silence, she winced at the creaking of the ill-cared-for wood flooring.

  Three doors opened off the short hall. One she identified by the powerful aroma of rusty water; the bathroom. The closest door stood open and she peeked inside, seeing a spacious bedroom and nothing else. That left only one door, and she stopped before it.

  Taking a deep breath, Whiskey reached for the doorknob. It rattled in her hand as it turned, and she opened the door. Golden light spilled out of the room.

  “How good of you to come, Ninsumgal.” Andri bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving hers. He held a pistol in one hand, though he didn’t aim it at her. “Please come in. We’ve much to discuss before we can put an end to this.”

  Whiskey lowered her chin. “Thank you, Andri. Or should I call you something else?” She left the door open behind her, and went to the empty chair across from him.

  “Andri will do.”

  “Then let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  Andri smiled. “Aye. Let’s do.”

  ***

  Valmont paced beside the Town Car, glancing at his watch e
very few moments.

  “D’ye think she’d be upset if we went a little early?”

  He snorted at Phineas’s question. “If she’s anything like Elisibet—and she does have her moments, let me tell you—you wouldn’t be asking.”

  Phineas frowned, shoulders dropping as he sat in the driver’s seat, car door open. “How long should we wait then?”

  “Until she’s had time enough to get there and make contact.”

  Obviously disgruntled with the answer, Phineas’s lips twisted into a grimace.

  True to her word, Whiskey had gone to the meeting alone.

  And her words to Valmont were also true. He knew in which direction she headed, watching her disappear into a driveway about two blocks down the street. They would follow soon.

  Phineas had been ordered to locate and release Margaurethe if she was there while Valmont was to back up Whiskey.

  He had better plans than that. If that filthy snake hurt either of the women, Valmont schemed to tear him limb from limb.

  Slowly. And with great relish.

  ***

  Margaurethe’s weariness vanished as she heard someone moving about upstairs. It had been hours since the man masquerading as Andri had left her. He had long since quieted. As best she could tell, this was someone else walking stealthily across the floor.

  It had to be Whiskey.

  Margaurethe struggled into a sitting position, trying in vain to break her bonds. Of course, the chains held firm; the drug holding her mind also robbed her of her Sanguire strength. She groaned in protest.

  Another attempt to expand her awareness past herself resulted in a fierce headache. She bent over as her stomach spasmed. When the sensation passed, tears of frustration stung her eyes. I have to find a way out of here!

  ***

  Whiskey turned the chair around and straddled it, one arm propped on the back, the other fist planted on her hip. “There’s really not much to say, is there? You have something I want, and I have something you want.”

  Andri also sat, the pistol held loosely in his lap. “Actually, it’s not what I want, but what my employer desires. If it were left to me, this wouldn’t be happening.”

  “It still doesn’t need to.”

  “Ah, unfortunately, I do have ethics, young Jenna. My career might be of a less savory nature, but I have scruples.”

  “That’s too bad. Though I can understand your point of view.”

  She wondered how long it would take for Valmont and Phineas to get there. Would they find Margaurethe easily enough? Would they arrive in time to stop her death?

  “So what are we waiting for?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you so eager to die?”

  “Hell no. You can smell my fear as well as I can. But you’ve given me no choice. If I’m to see Margaurethe safe, I have to give myself to you.”

  “You would succumb willingly to your execution?” He leaned forward, watching her.

  Whiskey squinted at him. “What? Is this a test or something?” She sat straight, bringing her arm down from the chair, planting that hand on her hip as well. “You have your ethics; I have mine.”

  “You realize, of course, that my employer is most likely attempting to take over the Agrun Nam?”

  “So?”

  He appeared perplexed. “So? Your people teeter on the edge of chaos. If the prophecies are true, you are the main hope to see true order restored.”

  Whiskey stared at him. “And?” she urged impatiently.

  He shook his head, disgruntled. “I thought you’d be more concerned for your people. Apparently, I was wrong.” He rose and walked to the window, dividing his attention between her and his thoughts. “You played a good game, I’ll admit. I guess you can take the girl away from the streets but not the streets out of the girl.”

  She grinned. “You’re disappointed.” Her voice held a measure of delighted awe. “You expect me to be noble and sacrifice my love for my people—a people I know next to nothing about.”

  “Well, we can’t all be perfect, can we?”

  Her smile widened at the acid in his tone, her fangs slipping from their sheathes. “If you’re looking for a fight, you have one. But not until Margaurethe is safely away from here.”

  He cocked his head and looked at her. “How do you know she’s here?”

  “Because I felt her when I came in.”

  “You felt her? Impossible.”

  His pronouncement caused her heart to stumble. “Why is it impossible?” Her humor disappeared into an ominous growl.

  ***

  Valmont slipped in through the open door, Phineas close on his heels. Keeping his mind in check, he attempted to discern in which direction Whiskey had gone. He didn’t have to use his mind to locate her; he smelled her passing. Wavering slightly, eyelids half closed, he decided she had continued on this level.

  With a glance and a nod, he directed Phineas down the basement steps, a whisper touch of his mind admonishing silence.

  The chauffeur nodded and disappeared into the darkness.

  Gliding through the murky hallway, Valmont took great care to keep quiet. At the junction of the hall, he paused again, ignoring the squeak of a mouse scuttling nearby. To the left then.

  Another junction, another choice. Leaning close to the wall, he almost saw Whiskey’s scent rise from the cracked paint. She stopped here, pushed against the wall. He did the same, looking around the corner to see a kitchen in disarray, appliances long since stolen, and cupboard doors removed. The house wasn’t that large. Valmont knew the places she could be were dwindling. With nowhere else to go, he directed his attention to the living room.

  His ears picked up voices, and he smiled in satisfaction. Very close. They were just up ahead. He picked up his pace.

  ***

  A scratching at the door interrupted Margaurethe’s panicked struggle. Metal on metal. She fine-tuned her hearing, but couldn’t increase it much. It sounded as if someone was picking the lock.

  Valmont had no need for such subterfuge, having the ability to move objects with his mind. Margaurethe wasn’t certain Whiskey would know how to open a lock. Margaurethe almost laughed.

  Whiskey was a Ghost Walker; she would simply pass through the door.

  If this was some fool Human looking for something to steal, she would be ready.

  Margaurethe heard the solid snick of the lock, and a faint sigh of relief from whomever worked the mechanism. She sat on the edge of the cot, bringing her chained legs close, muscles tensing as the doorknob gently rattled. The door opened and she pounced, tackling the person on the other side. Both of them fell to the concrete floor, her savior letting out a grunt as she knocked the air out of him. Rolling away, Margaurethe struggled to get to her feet, a tough proposition without her arms to assist her. “Gods, cuz,” a voice whispered. “I missed you, too.”

  Margaurethe stopped, raising her head, and staring. “Phineas?”

  The young Sanguire grinned, his face red as he regained use of his lungs. “Shhh. We’re supposed to be quiet.” He picked up his lock pick set, waggling the metal tools at her. “Let me get you out of those.”

  “Where’s Whiskey?” She forced herself to barely breathe the words.

  “Probably talking to that ass who created this mess.”

  “Hurry! I’ve got to get to her!”

  “Be still!” he hissed. “And keep it down. Sublugal Sañar Valmont should be there.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Andri held up his free hand in a placating gesture. “No worries, luv. Your consort is quite alive, and no doubt very angry. I simply meant that the drug I gave her is supposed to suppress her abilities.” He sniffed his opinion of the medication. “Obviously that batch is a bit stale.”

  Whiskey swallowed a sense of relief, confirming Margaurethe was here and not hurt. She had to keep him talking if she were to give Valmont and Phineas time to find her. Having risen from her chair, she shoved it out of her way, fangs still extended. �
��So tell me, did Andri ever really come here?”

  He scrutinized her carefully. “No. I was given a dossier with his information. He hasn’t been seen in two hundred years or more.”

  She found the information disconcerting. Was Elisibet’s valet dead or in hiding? Would he someday turn up to avenge all the hurts his liege had done to him? Or would he understand that despite her appearance, she wasn’t the evil woman who had dominated him through the centuries? Whiskey ran her tongue over her fangs. There were more important things to consider right now. Like whether or not she would live through the next few minutes. “How do we do this? You release Margaurethe, and I allow you to execute me?”

  A smile crossed his face. “Ah, now, don’t be thinking I’ll fall for that sort of act. You might be perfectly willing to give your life for hers, but a body has a will of its own. Regardless of your word, I know you’ll fight your death. They all do, no matter how helpless they feel.”

  “Whatever.” Whiskey held her hands out with a slight shrug.

  She took a step closer. “But don’t doubt I will take you with me if you don’t let her go first.”

  The floor in the living room creaked.

  Andri took a step back, and raised the gun. Aiming at Whiskey’s heart, he glanced beyond her, smile gone. “You said you’d come alone! You gave your word.”

  Whiskey shrugged again, forcing a bravado she didn’t feel as she stared down the barrel of the pistol. “I did come alone.”

  “Then who the blazes is out there?” He raised his voice to be heard.

  Another creak, and Valmont stepped in, an unrepentant grin on his face. “I followed her.” He held a pistol, as well, pointed at the nervous assassin.